


Derek Hale and "The Manly Art of Knitting"

by pinetreelady



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Hale Family Feels, Knitting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-01
Updated: 2015-04-01
Packaged: 2018-03-20 15:58:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3656325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinetreelady/pseuds/pinetreelady
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek has a secret knitting habit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Derek Hale and "The Manly Art of Knitting"

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bleep0bleep](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bleep0bleep/gifts).



> Carrie showed me a picture of a vintage knitting book whose cover features a black-and-white photo of a cowboy on horseback ... knitting. Naturally it's called "The Manly Art of Knitting." When she posted the picture to twitter, she captioned it "Derek Hale's new book." Verity and Carrie both agreed that it needed fic to go with it.
> 
>   
>    
> 
> 
> I kind of took it in a different direction, but I couldn't resist the idea of Derek Hale, accomplished knitter.
> 
> Many thanks to Carrie and Verity for encouragement and cheerleading, and to Elisera, as always, for stellar feedback!

Stiles doesn’t believe his eyes, late one night when he drops in on Derek, and finds him ensconced on his couch, mainlining ESPN classic, knitting needles in hand. He manages to keep a straight face when Derek waves him over and makes room for him on the couch, saying, “Hang on, I’m decreasing, let me just finish this row, okay?”

Stiles stares, but moves to sit next to him, anyway. “You … knit?” He can’t help asking, even though he can see Derek’s lips moving as he counts stitches.

Derek nods, still counting, and Stiles waits till he’s done, biting on his lip to rein in his incredulity.

A few moments later, Derek puts down the work and gives Stiles a look, somehow simultaneously defensive and stubborn. “I can tell you’re trying not to laugh at me.”

“It’s more out of … disbelief. I’m just surprised, is all.” He pokes at Derek’s sleeve, a riot of light-grey cables, and says, “Don’t tell me you made this, too.”

Derek’s mouth quirks and he looks like he’s trying not to laugh himself. “Yeah,” he says, and his downcast eyes make him so cute Stiles wants to climb into his lap and kiss him for an hour or so. If … if he didn’t run the risk of impaling himself on knitting needles, anyway. Instead Stiles just squints at him and says, “How many of your sweaters and stuff did you make, anyway?”

Derek starts listing them on his fingers. “That dark-green scarf, and the grey beanie with the stripes, and the burgundy pullover, that cardigan you like ...” he stops and thinks a minute. “That black toque I’m pretty sure you stole last winter, I made that, too …” he trails off.

“No wonder I couldn’t find a tag so I could get one of my own!” Stiles says before he thinks, and the look on Derek’s face says _busted_.

He shakes his head and laughs a little, though. “Keep it. I’m glad you like it so much.”

Stiles leans in and rubs his nose along Derek’s cheek. He’s the best boyfriend. “I thought all that stuff might be handmade? But I was thinking Etsy, or maybe some fancy boutique.”

Derek lifts a shoulder, as if to say, _What can I say?_ and Stiles can’t help asking, “But, really now, out of all the possible hobbies in the world, how did you happen to take up knitting?”

Derek draws in a breath. “Lots of werewolf families teach their kids to knit, boys as well as girls. It’s … supposed to help with focus, with control.”

And after the fire, Derek explains, “Laura made us buy new needles, came up with the plan of selling commissions online, or donating what we made, and that was … well, the familiarity of it … it got us through some of the rough times after the fire.”

Stiles turns this over in his mind. The idea that knitting, _knitting_ , helped Derek and Laura cope with their loss … it makes something in his chest hurt a little.

*

Derek shows Stiles some more of the things he’s made. Not just the sweaters and things that he wears, but the photo gallery of what he’s sold or donated over the years, as well as his inventory, carefully stored. He makes Stiles a sweater for their second Christmas together after he gets tired of Stiles borrowing his all the time.

Stiles starts collecting vintage knitting books for Derek, from the library book sales and used book shops and estate sales he frequents. His favorite features a cowboy on horseback on the cover, knitting in hand. _The Manly Art of Knitting._ Derek shakes his head when he sees it, but Stiles sees him reading it at bedtime and feels vindicated.

*

Cora skypes them, barely contained excitement in her voice. “Tom and I are getting married!” she proclaims, and waves her left hand at them, ring sparkling. 

Stiles is happy he’s there with Derek to see the look on his face at Cora’s news: open, happy, eyes bright. 

“Have you set a date?” Stiles asks.

“Next September!” 

Stiles can tell that Derek’s thrilled for her. But he still seems a little thoughtful, quieter than usual, when he sets the computer aside. 

An hour later, Stiles comes in to ask him what he thinks about stew for dinner, and finds him staring off into space, current project untouched in his lap. He’s been making tiny baby sweaters and hats for a charity project at the hospital, and he cranks them out with impressive speed and precision.

“What’s up? You worrying about Cora?”

Derek smiles a little. “No, I’m really happy for her. Tom’s great. I’m just.” He sighs, and it sounds wistful. Sad. Big life milestones have a way of throwing even decades-old loss into high relief. Stiles should know.

Derek gets off the couch abruptly, puts his knitting on the coffee table, and moves purposefully out of the room. Stiles doesn’t think he’s mad at him, though. He plops down and starts flipping through the cookbook he’d brought in with him.

Derek returns with the little wooden box that Stiles knows contains the few mementos he has of his family. A couple of newspaper articles Stiles and others were able to find, some paperwork from the file on the Hale fire from the Sheriff’s department. A few pictures with blackened edges and one smoke-stained tea saucer, delicate roses painted around the edge. Derek carefully sifts through the pictures, finally pulling one out, holding it out for Stiles to see.

Stiles looks at the black-and-white remains of what must be a wedding photo. The jagged, burned edge means that the groom isn’t visible, and only part of the bride. Flowers rest in the crook of her elbow. Her veil pools on the floor, another bouquet placed on top. 

“Your … grandparents?” Stiles hazards.

“Great-grandparents, actually,” Derek says, nodding. “This is 1927, I’m pretty sure.” He keeps gazing at the picture as he talks. “See what she’s wearing, this shawl?”

“Mm-hm,” Stiles agrees. He squints. What he’d thought was a veil is actually a long, lacy shawl.

“It was … family tradition … that everyone made a shawl for new brides. There was a box full of them, my mom’s, a couple of aunts’, my grandma’s, her mom’s, and even a couple that were older. They were exquisite, gossamer, incredibly intricate and complex. True knitted lace, with edgings that were knitted on, after the body was completed.” Derek’s voice quakes a little at the end, and Stiles suspects he’s hearing the memory of someone, maybe his mom, saying just those words to him, in a tone similarly reverent.

Stiles slips his hand onto Derek’s knee and squeezes gently. There are quilts at his dad’s house that carry a lot of significance for them, too, things that would hurt a lot to lose.

When Derek doesn’t say anything else, Stiles clears his throat and asks, “Did, uh. Did the bride make her own shawl, or did her mom make it for her, or … what?”

“Everyone helped. Even those of us who were tiny were carefully guided through a few stitches. It was a big privilege, to be trusted to work on it by yourself, once you were old enough.”

It’s finally starting to dawn on Stiles, what Derek’s maybe thinking about. 

“You’d better get started soon, then, hm?” Stiles thinks he’s keeping his voice level.

Derek’s head snaps over to meet his eyes. “Started?”

Stiles smiles, and squeezes Derek’s knee again. “Yeah. On Cora’s wedding shawl, right? I’m sure I can learn enough to help a little, and Melissa’s a knitter, you know that, and Kira went through a crafting phase, she’ll be good for a few rows at least, right?” There may not be a Hale pack, exactly, anymore, to make a Hale family wedding shawl for Cora, but they can make do.

Derek’s eyes are shining, suddenly, and he blinks. “Yeah.” He smiles, a little wobbly.

“And you should, you know, ask Cora what color she wants it to be, and if she wants it to look traditional, or modern … do you think you can reverse-engineer your great-grandma’s from the picture, if she wanted you to?” Stiles gestures at it, sitting on the coffee table in front of them.

Derek’s nodding, and he says, thoughtfully, “That’s … yeah, I bet I could, if she wants. That’s … that’s a great idea.”

Eventually they decide on something traditional, but Cora insists that it doesn’t have to match their great-grandmother's. Derek finds a [picture](http://www.ravelry.com/patterns/library/large-rectangle-in-spider-net) online, and Cora falls in love with a version with beads. Derek sends her yarn samples; she picks a color, and he starts knitting.

Stiles thinks Derek finds the intricate pattern soothing, somehow; satisfying and productive, his focus not unlike how he’ll apply himself to a new recipe, or to mastering a yoga pose. Stiles watches and imagines that he can see how Derek must have looked as a child learning to knit: face tight with determination, yarn looped around his fingers and the needles he moves so deftly.

*

The day before Cora’s wedding, Derek checks that he’s packed the shawl, painstakingly wrapped in layers of tissue paper, no fewer than four times. (Stiles knows; he counted.) He’d also counted every last one of the hundreds of silvery glass seed beads he’d strung on the yarn for Derek to knit into the border.

True to his word, Stiles had bullied everyone into adding at least a few stitches to Cora’s shawl under Derek’s watchful eyes, and Stiles had strung those beads on the fine, silky yarn until his vision blurred. But Derek did the vast bulk of the knitting himself, trying to work by daylight when he could because the fine gauge made it hard to see under even the brightest lamp.

*  
Derek gives her the wrapped-up shawl after the rehearsal dinner, when most everyone’s scattered for the night. She bites her lip and pulls off the paper, and draws a quick breath when she sees it. The beads catch the light when she shakes it out, pulls it around her shoulders, and she meets Derek’s eyes for a quick moment before they’re in each other’s arms. 

Tom catches Stiles’ eye and nods, and they wander off to give Derek and Cora a moment to themselves. 

*

It matches Cora’s wedding dress perfectly. Even with the beads giving it some weight, the edges flutter when she walks, and she looks so lovely it takes Stiles’ breath away. 

He nudges Derek. “You did a great job with it, you know.”

Derek smiles. “Yeah. We did.”


End file.
